Murphy's Luck
by TimelessTears
Summary: The Basement Butcher devastated Las Vegas killing 7 families before disappearing. Ten years later, the killings begin again. The BAU is brought in and the further they dig into the case, the more questions they have. What does the killer want with Spencer Reid, a boy they killed ten years ago? AU. M for violence and graphic descriptions.
1. Prologue

**Prologue: A Short Talk on Basements and their Uses**

The year is 1990. A family sits in their basement.

The basement's concrete was cool and the moisture in the air was heavy and felt like a sickly caress on skin. The washer was humming and the dryer was buzzing vigorously. If one listened carefully, they could hear water rushing through the pipes, making its own little melody in a world of chaotic noise.

There are other sounds as well; a chair is scraped harshly across the floor and heavy breathing hits the air.

There is blood on the floor. It is a deep red that looks like chocolate syrup in the dying light.

Basements are conundrums. They are meant for storage; to be a safe place to put all the material things needed but not always used. They are meant for shelter; a place to hide when the winds rip and bite at the house with ferocious strength. That is what basements are for: to protect and to store.

Yet many hesitate at the top of the stairs. It's dark in the basement. It is a deep abyss that devours everything- save for the shallow light that shines through a little window barely worth mentioning. At night, the sun's luxury is swallowed up, so every step down those creaking stairs makes the heart beat faster and hands grip the rail a little tighter. At the bottom, the smell of dirt, mold, and water wafts through the air. Hands scramble as best as they can for the light switch and the body relaxes when light engulfs the dark.

Unease still trembles inside the heart even when the light is on. There a multiple reasons for this: there's the feeling of being watched even though you are alone; there is the fact that any noise you make will be suffocated by thick concrete and; no matter how spacious the basement is, the longer you stay, the more closed in you feel.

Logically, the basement is simply a room; it cannot hurt anyone because it is not a living thing with intentions of its own. Yet, people will avoid them as best as they can and when they must go down they do their business quickly. When they are finished, the moment they turn off the light, they race up the stairs in their best attempt to flee from the darkness that overtakes.

There is only relief at the top of the stairs and the satisfaction that one has, once again, survived.

There are questions lurking here: why do so many fear their basements? What illogical notion has led to this fear?

The basement is a room designed to protect. People would not store their valuable possessions down there if this was not so. Perhaps then, that very same reason gave birth to the fear.

There are no ghosts in the basement; the shadows cannot grab onto you and drag you into their dark corners. Monsters conjured out of the imagination cannot hurt you. The basement's strong points are its faults. It is a vast room built to withstand pressure and suppress noise.

So good at suffocating noise- no one would hear any screams coming from the basement.

In the basement sits three chairs with three people tied to them. A fourth person stands. The washing machine clicks off as a knife pierces flesh. A shrill shriek is ripped from a dry mouth. The pipes rumble with water as the knife carves into skin. There are chunks of flesh on the floor and blood gushes; a geyser taking shape in human form.

Three screams become two.

The first to go was the father. He left this world screaming in agony, begging for his family to be spared.

The second to go was the mother. She left this world in uncertainty and panic; her perspective had her in two places at once and she could not decipher between the two.

The last to go would be the son. He was silent save for his shallow breathing. Breathing that slowed with each step the killer took up the stairs. Dark deeds finished, they left to continue on with their life, holding no regard for the three that were just destroyed by their hands.

The basement is an isolated room. It is the perfect place to conduct a symphony of torture and murder without interruption. The neighbors would never be able to hear the yells through the thick walls.

Except, they did.

It was not long before sirens blared and lights flashed. Cops swarmed the house, guns ready and eyes alert. Looking and searching for signs of life. They found a basement stained with blood. This was the 7th family to fall victim to the Basement Butcher, as the police had so kindly named the killer. Of all the victims, this family was the quickest to be discovered. The other six families had been found weeks after they had been killed. Why had this family been heard? Was there a flaw in the basement's design? A crack in the foundation that let the outside world hear their screams?

Or perhaps there had been a flaw in the Basement Butcher's meticulous calculations.

Earlier in the day to let out the stale air that had gathered in the basement, Spencer Reid had opened a little window barely worth mentioning.

Time passes. Killers come and go in the Nevada heat. Some are caught, some die, and some disappear. The year is 2000 and after a 10 year pause the Basement Butcher adds an 8th family to their killing count with a special message:

They want Spencer Reid. A boy they killed a decade ago.

* * *

 **AN: Guess who's back~**


	2. Chapter 1

Rossi withheld a sigh as he thumbed through the file, idly scanning over words he had read a thousand times over. He half-heartedly checked to see if he had missed anything that might crack their current case. The answer was the same as last time: no. There were no clues, no hints - not even the slightest tease that the unsub had messed up somewhere along the way. The file described when and how the victims were found, the injuries they sustained, and time of death. This was followed by a slew of horrific pictures that had Rossi, a veteran agent who had seen the aftermath of countless gruesome murders, turning his head to look out the jet's window. Oh, the placement of the bodies was tame, as far as killers went, but the fact that most had been found weeks after made the victims look like they props for a horror movie. A quick glance at his teammates proved they were thinking similar thoughts.

Teammates. That is a word Rossi thought he would never use. The BAU had changed tactics since he had retired. Gone were the days of investigating cases alone or with a partner. Rossi was hesitant to try the "working as a team" approach but if the current number of solved cases were anything to go by, it seemed to be working. Still, to think it had been Jason Gideon, of all people, to call him 6 months ago asking Rossi to become a profiler again. Rossi had been suspicious at first; wondering if Jason was trying to rope him back into the BAU because he thought Rossi was wasting his talent writing books. They had worked well together back in the day and he knew what the other man was like. 'Friends' would be too strong of a word to describe their relationship but 'teammates' was too shallow. Gideon had been angry when he had found out Rossi was retiring from the BAU. He thought Rossi was dropping out early for the monetary gain he was receiving from his books and lectures. That was partially true, but the real reason Rossi had retired early was because he could feel himself starting to burn out.

When one looks at the corpse of a person who had been tortured and realizes they cannot even muster up even the tiniest bit of sympathy, it is best to move on to a different life focus before apathy kills off everything.

Jason had not understood that at the time. He was passionate about his job- so focused on getting inside the criminal's head to restore justice he simply could not see that others had limits on how much suffering they could witness. Jason's limit was so much deeper; he was an ocean and they were small puddles.

But even oceans have rocks at the bottom and Jason felt their jagged edges when he lost six agents to the Boston Shrapnel Bomber. When they had met up, Rossi was expecting to see his old teammate stewing in righteous anger with a war speech on the tip of his tongue. The tired old man who looked back at him with dead eyes was shocking.

Jason Gideon was at his limit- and he was wise enough to realize that crossing the line would break him and, unlike in the past, he would not recover.

Jason's quiet desperation showed itself the moment Rossi sat down; he did not try to bother with small talk. He started off by telling Rossi he was retiring from profiling immediately. However, he did not want his team to be without a replacement; Aaron Hotchner was an excellent leader but he was still young and would need some guidance. A profiler from their generation was needed until the team gained more experience. Rossi had half a mind to say no but one look at Jason's eyes had him agreeing. His years in retirement had given him time to reflect and grow; he could be a profiler again without worrying that he would lose himself like Jason Gideon had.

Rossi had his break. It was time Jason had his.

He was still getting used to the whole team thing but Rossi had to admit it was going better than expected. He already knew Aaron Hotchner and could trust his skills but he understood why Gideon wanted Rossi to take his place. Aaron was talented but he had a family and Rossi had no intention of allowing their work to consume their leader's life. Jennifer Jareau was a capable young woman who had a good head on her shoulders. Rossi had been leery when he heard of the liaison position but after seeing JJ in action with the press, he saw the benefits of having someone who could competently talk to reporters. Profilers were good at reading others but talking to the media was not their strong point. Derek Morgan was another one who had been a pleasant surprise to Rossi. At first glance he looked like one of those all-brawn-no-brain types. Rossi knew that was not true; you have to be intelligent to get on with the BAU but it was still surprising to learn Morgan specialized in obsessive behaviors, fixations, and explosives.

Then there was Penelope Garcia and Emily Prentiss. Garcia was in a league of her own- anyone could see that by just looking at her. Rossi had a hard time holding back his laughter when he learned she was their technical analyst. _That_ was a position he knew the bureau had forced Gideon to have on the team. The other man was terrible with computers. Rossi felt a bit bad when he learned Gideon had not even bothered to learn Garcia's name and made sure the woman knew he appreciated what she was doing.

As for Emily, well, she was the newest member. Rossi had helped Aaron decide between her and one other candidate. Elle Greenaway was a good agent but after observing her, Rossi thought she was a little too rough for the BAU. She had a fiery temper that was roused far too easily. Of course, Emily also had a temper but she could rein it in and Rossi felt that she would not butt heads with the other members, something Aaron agreed with. The first few cases were a little unsteady because she had tried too hard to prove herself capable but once her nerves relaxed, their team worked exceptionally well together.

"Hey Rossi," Morgan called out, bringing Rossi from his thoughts. "I'm curious; since this case is pretty old do you remember it?"

Rossi raised his eyebrows at the 'pretty old' part but was gracious enough to ignore it. "Mmm, let's see, the Basement Butcher's first known kill was the Rogers family in 1987. Altogether, seven families that we know of were killed between 1987 and 1990. So, we know the unsub killed for a solid three years before stopping. During that same time, BTK was causing terror in Kansas, Jeffrey Dahmer was still acting as the Milwaukee Cannibal, the Green River Killer was in his prime, and a slew of other serial killers were around. Suffice to say, it was a busy time for us. I vaguely recall this case but it wasn't televised nationwide."

"Yeah, I would have been in my late teens when it happened. I didn't listen to the news a lot but this sounds like something I'd remember." Morgan said, eyes scanning the papers in his hands.

"Communication between the states and the FBI wasn't the best back then. Behavior Analysis had been around for a while but cops didn't like it very much. We weren't invited in and at the time I distinctly recall we were on a case in Michigan."

"Hopefully we'll get more information when we arrive at the police station because this is pathetic." Emily said in disgust, tossing her file down onto the table. "There's nothing in here about the blood samples, witness statements, or the toxicology reports. They don't even have an autopsy report!"

"As a former police officer, I would like to say that making reports were never fun," Morgan replied. "That being said, I agree with you. This is negligence and I hope someone was reprimanded."

"Now, now, children," Rossi chided. "Let's not judge the police force before we even reach the ground. After all, they did invite us in when they realized the Basement Butcher was active again."

"Regardless of their failings in the past, we'll keep our opinions to ourselves. This police force isn't the same one from 10 years ago. They called us in and we will be respectful, understood?" Hotch asked, giving everyone a stern glance. The silence was broken by the ringing of JJ's phone.

"Jennifer Jareau speaking," She greeted and became silent as she listened to the person on the other end, her expression morphing into a mixture of exasperation and pity. "I see. Yes, I'll let them know. We'll be landing soon. Thank you for informing me." She said, ending the call. Heaving a sigh, she turned to her teammates.

"That was a representative from the Las Vegas police; specifically the Northwest Area Command which is where we'll be setting up. They were calling to let us know an escort will be ready for us when we land and that another family was found."

"Did the rep say when the bodies were discovered?" Hotch asked.

"They got the call about an hour ago. The investigation is ongoing at the moment."

"Well, well," Rossi said as the plane began to descend. "Looks like our unsub's been busy."

As promised, when they landed there were two SUV's waiting for them on the tarmac. Two officers were standing nearby and approached the team as soon as they were off the plane.

"Hello. I'm Agent Hotchner and this is my team: Special Agents Davis Rossi, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss and our liaison, Agent Jennifer Jareau." Hotch said as he shook the hands offered to him.

"It's nice to meet you all, though I wish it was under nicer circumstances. I'm Officer David Knox and this is Officer James Carly." The man with green eyes said as he pointed to his shorter companion.

"We received word another family was found. Is it possible for us to go to the crime scene?" Hotch asked and the two officers shared a glance before Carly spoke.

"Our orders were to take your team back to the station but I don't think Chief Hartmut would mind if some of you went to the crime scene. That's where he's at right now. He'll probably seem angry when you meet him but that's because the media's gotten wind of what's happening. We haven't said anything but they're connecting the dots. Sooner or later the truth's gonna come out and the last thing the Chief wants is the news causing panic across Las Vegas." Carly admitted.

"I understand. Rossi, JJ, you're coming with me to the crime scene. Morgan and Prentiss, go to the station and start setting up; contact Garcia and see if she has any information." Hotch ordered before getting into the vehicle, Rossi and JJ following as Officer Carly got into the driver's seat. The drive was silent for the first ten minutes before Carly spoke.

"I'm really happy you guys accepted our invitation," The young officer admitted, his eyes never leaving the road. "I was 16 when the Basement Butcher became infamous. He was on the mind of anyone with a family. My parents bought a security system because he scared them that much. People were always wondering when he would strike next and then bam! Poof! He just disappeared! At first it was speculated the police weren't finding his victims but overtime people realized he was really gone. Then, he sort of became a boogieman around these parts. Parents will tell their kids "Do what I say or the Basement Butcher will get you!" Rather perverse if you think about. Anyway, I hope with your help, we'll be able to put this bastard behind bars."

"You keep saying "he," Rossi noted from the backseat and saw in the rear-view mirror the young man blink in surprise. "Why is that?"

"C'mon, can you imagine a woman doing this?" Carly chuckled. "Since the Basement Butcher's come out of 'retirement' we've been pouring over everything we have on him back at the station. Trust me, some of the husbands this guy killed were not small. I can't see how a woman would be able to subdue a man twice her size and then do the same to his family without getting caught. Hell, I have a hard time imagining a man doing it!"

"You would be surprised at what people can do when they're motivated. Gender has nothing to do with it." Hotch said as they turned down a street and he caught sight of news vans and yellow tape.

"I suppose. In any case, we're here and so are the vultures," Carly sighed as he parked. "See the angry middle aged man who looks like he's about to commit homicide? That's Chief Hartmut." The officer explained as they began walking towards the crime scene.

Indeed the older man with a greying mustache surrounded by microphones and recorders seemed like he was weighing the pros and cons of taking out his gun. JJ was quick to intervene and soon had all the reporters listening to her, giving Chief Hartmut a chance to escape.

"I can stare down thieves, killers, and rapists without breaking a sweat but a group of reporters nudging into my personal space asking stupid questions is downright intolerable." The man grumbled and Hotch saw Officer Carly bravely holding back a laugh.

"Don't worry, my liaison has them in hand. Agent Hotchner." Hotch told the man with a small smile.

"Charles Hartmut. Is that who the blonde is? Thought she was angel God sent down to save me from the demons."

"You wouldn't be the first to say that," Rossi said smirking. "I'm Agent Rossi. The rest of our team is back at the station. When we heard an investigation was happening as we were landing, we thought it'd be best to stop by."

"Well I didn't call you guys in to sit around and twiddle your thumbs!" Hartmut let out a gruff laugh before becoming serious. "I don't mind you looking around. The bodies haven't been removed yet so you can view them but you'll have to wear a hazmat suit."

"They've decomposed that far?" Rossi asked in surprise.

"Coroner roughly put their deaths at around 5 weeks ago. He says he'll need to take them back to the morgue to get a more accurate reading. I wish him luck with that task. I was down there before the news vans arrived and it's not pretty. If you have a weak stomach, I suggest you stay up here." Chief Hartmut advised, seeing Carly's face go green.

"How many victims?" Hotch asked as they began walking towards the house.

"There are four: a mom, dad and two kids. A son and daughter but we only know that because of the family pictures. Otherwise we'd be guessing by the clothing." The older man said with a grimace.

"Want me to go down?" Rossi offered but Hotch was already asking for a suit.

"No, I want you to talk to the neighbors. Find out everything you can about the-?" He cut himself off and looked to Hartmut for assistance.

"Barton family." Hartmut supplied. With a nod, Rossi went off and Hotch got into his hazmat suit. Entering the house, he trudged down to the basement of the nice suburban house. Getting off the last step, his feet made a squelching noise as he walked through questionable liquids to where the bodies were. The chairs were facing each other and the bodies tied to them were grotesque to say the least.

They looked like half-deflated balloons with yellow, brown and red liquids slowly leaking out of them, pooling onto the floor. The eyeballs were gone, all hair and teeth had fallen to the floor and the small amount of skin left looked like waterlogged paper. Their jaws had gone slack and Hotch could see flies and maggots had found a new home. Three other people with CSI taped to their hazmat suits were moving around taking samples and pictures.

"Did Chief Hartmut send you down?" One of them asked as she carefully gathered several black finger nails into a zip lock bag.

"Yes. I wanted to see if the killer left any clues." Hotch replied, peering at what appeared to be the mother. Her faded blue dress was ripped, stained, and slowly falling apart with the rest of her.

"Good luck," Another snorted from where he was taking pictures. "Any fingerprints on the bodies have long deteriorated and if they left any other DNA, it was swallowed up when the bodies began to liquefy."

"Why is the killer called the Basement Butcher if the victims are left intact?" Hotch asked, as he took a look at a wound on the mother's shoulder. The decayed skin was yellow and crusted with black with old blood; he could still see the clean cut the knife had left behind. It had gone straight into the bone and looking at the others, he saw they had similar markings on them.

"People like to exaggerate everything. I'm not an expert but whoever did this had excellent precision. See all these cut marks? It's hard to tell now due to the state of the bodies but the places this killer chose to stab allowed for maximum pain with little blood in return. After that, they played around a little before going to town on these poor people." The CSI tech closest to Hotch explained, pointing out all the cut marks as she spoke.

"Hey guys! You're not going to believe this!" The one who had been taking pictures called out in excitement and fear. "Come over here; the Basement Butcher left something behind."

Meanwhile, Rossi was questioning the neighbors next door. He had already spoken to the family on the left side of the Barton house but they had been away on vacation and had gotten back two days ago. This couple had been here the whole time so he was hoping they might have some information.

"Please think carefully; are you sure you didn't see anything odd happen around 5 weeks ago? A strange car circling the block; a person in the neighborhood you'd never seen before or anything like that?" He asked them in a soothing voice.

The couple- a young husband and wife- looked at each other for a moment before the wife spoke.

"I can't think of anything out of the ordinary like that happening. This is a quiet place and people keep to themselves mostly. Why? Has something happened?"

"A police cruiser came by and gave the old man across the street a ticket for parking next to a fire hydrant. The police work with our neighborhood watch so they send someone over when it starts to get dark." The husband told him and Rossi withheld a sigh and switched tactics.

"What about the Barton family? Were they acting strange? Did they seem scared?"

"Ah, well, the wife- Jane- was scared of everything. I went to over to ask if I could borrow some jumper cables once and her face went white when she saw me at the door! I felt like a ghoul for half a second. It wasn't just me; she was like that with everyone," The woman shook her head. "Makes one wonder how her husband broke through all that anxiety. Sad part is I think one of her kids had it pretty bad too."

"And the husband?" Rossi questioned.

"He was a cheerful guy. Always smiling and seemed like a gentle person. He would talk to anyone who was willing to give up their whole day to listen. Some people avoided him because of that." The husband told Rossi.

A few more questions were asked and answered. Rossi was about to thank them when something clicked in his mind. Turning around, he noticed the Barton's car was in the driveway.

"Has their car been there all this time? Has it moved at all?" He asked them.

"Hmm, nope. It's been sitting there awhile." The husband answered.

"And you don't find this strange? That their car's here but you haven't seen them for weeks?" Rossi asked incredulously and the couple shared another glance.

"Not really. I thought it was odd Greg didn't park it in the garage but I figured he trusted the neighborhood or he wanted it to look like they were home. Last time we talked to him, he said they hadn't decided if they were driving or taking a plane. We assumed they decided on the latter and took a taxi to the airport." The wife told Rossi.

"They were traveling somewhere?"

"Yeah, they're at some ritzy resort in Florida though I thought they were supposed to be back last week. Greg called it the vacation of the year and wouldn't shut up about it. They've been gone for over a month. I called the cops because when I was mowing I kept smelling this god awful odor coming from their house," The husband wrinkled his nose. "I think their sewer line busted and I don't want them coming home to smelly, flooded house, ya know?"

"Oh, I think that's the least of their worries," Rossi said somewhat sardonically, right as an ambulance pulled up the Barton house. "Thank you for your time but I think it's best if you go back inside and enjoy the rest of your day."

Leaving the shell-shocked couple behind, he walked back over to the Barton house and found Hartmut, JJ and Aaron talking.

"The reporters are willing to keep quiet for the moment. They don't even know if a murder has occurred here or not; ever since the 8th murder, they been listening to their police radios for anytime police show up to a house. They only came here because the Chief of Police came out." Rossi heard JJ say as he joined them.

"I thought it was odd they showed up considering the call was about a busted sewer pipe. We only came out to bust down the door so the plumbers could get in. I sent them away the moment I stepped inside the house." Hartmut said with a scowl.

"Ah, yes, the good neighbors next door confused the smell of decomposing bodies with sewage. A fair mix up, I suppose. The Barton's were supposed to be on vacation; that's why no one thought it was odd they hadn't seen them in weeks." Rossi told them, watching as four black bags were loaded into the ambulance.

"Their suitcases are still by the front door," Hotch said, reaching for his phone when he felt it buzzing. "The bodies are beyond recognition as expected. CSI will be sending us everything when the reports are done."

"Did you find anything else down there?" JJ asked Hotch who was reading a text on his phone.

"Let's continue this conversation at the station," Hartmut cut in. "Officer Carly will take you back while I finish up here."

"That's fine. Morgan wants us back anyway. He thinks they found something." Hotch said, putting his phone away.

The drive to the station was silent. Carly tried to start a conversation but realized all three agents were deep in their thoughts. Upon reaching the station, the officer led them to the conference room where Morgan and Prentiss were surrounded by a sea of papers. On the whiteboard was a timeline of the killings along with pictures of the victims taped underneath.

"Hey. Find anything at the crime scene?" Morgan asked as he taped another photo onto the board.

"The media more or less knows the Basement Butcher's back. I was able to get them to back off but they're going to keep an eye how this develops, unfortunately." JJ griped as she poured herself a cup of coffee and looked over the timeline.

"I talked with the neighbors. Our current victims were only discovered because the neighbors thought the house had a major sewage leak." Rossi sighed, as he sat down.

"Let me guess; the victims were supposed to be on vacation." Morgan said with a knowing grin and gave Emily a high five when Rossi nodded.

"Made some headway, have you?" Rossi asked, leaning in his chair.

"Not a lot. You guys have only been gone for three hours. Nothing's organized here so we're still sorting through files," Emily said, gesturing to the surrounding papers. "There's information here but some of the important files are still missing. I asked Officer Knox and he said this building is a fairly new facility. Some things were lost or misplaced in the move over."

"Of course they were," Rossi said sarcastically as he grabbed a nearby paper to study; it was a toxicology report. He turned to Hotch, remembering Hotch had not answered JJ's question at the crime scene. "Did you find anything in the basement?"

"I did but let's piece together what we know first." Hotch answered and Morgan took over.

"Ok, so Prentiss and I started off with a victim timeline. The Rogers family was the Basement Butcher's first known kill in 1987; they were found June 15th but the coroner put their deaths around late May. That same year the Wilson family was found on September 2nd. Again, the coroner has their time of death in early August. For the rest of the year the unsub's silent. Then, the killings start up again in the spring of 1988. The unsub killed the Logan and Marx families in the months of April and early June, respectively. Again, the families were found between 3-5 weeks after they were killed. The unsub goes quiet again until May of 1989 when they start the cycle again with the Kurt and Hill families. In June of 1990, the last family to be killed before the 10 year break was the Reid family," Morgan gestured to the only pictures on the board that looked human. "Unlike the others, they were found about an hour after time of death."

"So our unsub only kills during spring and summer." Rossi noted.

"It's definitely on purpose. Morgan and I found some witness statements for the Rogers, Marx and Hill families; they were all set to go on vacation," Emily said. "Somehow the unsub knows the families they target will be away for weeks on end and kills them right before they leave."

"Do we know if the unsub is a man or woman?" JJ asked and Morgan and Prentiss both scowled.

"That's the problem. The bodies were so decomposed that blood samples and toxicology were worthless." Emily told them.

"What about the Reid family? The testing done on them should give us something to go off of." Hotch cut in.

"In this case, I think that family is key to figuring out how the unsub managed to subdue whole families without alerting anyone but we can't find any of the tests; even the autopsy reports are missing." Morgan told their team leader, obviously annoyed at all the missing information.

"This almost looks ritualistic. All the victims were put in a circle and forced to watch each other die. Maybe the unsub is part of a cult? Or there's more than one unsub." JJ wondered out loud as she studies the photos.

"It would explain how the families were restrained so easily but there are no symbols indicating a ritual. Also, these killings are too alike to be done by several people. If they were initiation killings, the stab wounds would be jagged from nerves but even on the first family it's all clean cuts," Morgan noted. "I think it is one person; look at how deep the wounds are; this was personal."

During this time, Rossi had gotten up to take a closer look at the pictures. The ones he focused on were the photos taken of the Reid family. The quality was not the best but he could see each cut and he gained more insight from these than the others. William Reid's throat had been slit after he had been stabbed multiple times. Diana Reid's chest had been stabbed to the point of mutilation. Her face had not been spared and Rossi noticed a deep cut on her left temple; an unusual place for a knife wound but a fatal one all the same. Both Diana and William had injuries similar to the ones found on the other families.

And then there was Spencer Reid.

The young boy was slumped forward, only being kept up by the ropes around his chest. His eyes –a pretty brown, Rossi noted- were still open; his glasses had fallen onto his lap. The same cut pattern Rossi was beginning to memorize decorated his collar bone and shoulders. There was bruising on his forehead and left cheek- the unsub must have punched the poor boy in the face. Most of the blood on the boy was around his chest. Rossi couldn't see the wounds through the boy's bloodied shirt but he knew they were fatal. There was something in this photo that wasn't right; Rossi could not figure out what it was but he knew something was wrong.

"There's only one unsub and they are extremely possessive," Rossi heard Hotch say and realized the team leader had joined the debate. "Remember the current murders of the Barnes' and Barton's are what brought us here; they are different from the others. The Basement Butcher left a message in the Barnes' basement." Going to the whiteboard, Hotch wrote down what each member had already seen in the files sent to them:

 _Bring me the lamb that missed the slaughter._

"This unsub is smart; they used computer paper and then cut out letters from various magazines to make this message. They know printer ink can be traced. They could have used a library to print at but they knew that would give us a location to work with."

"Going old school, huh?" Morgan muttered. "CSI couldn't get a finger print off the note, could they?"

"No. The unsub was wearing gloves when they made this letter and they were meticulous; even the magazine letters were cleaned. Everything the unsub used was generic. It's impossible to trace," Hotch told the team. "The unsub left another note at the Barton's house. It's with CSI right now but I was down there when they discovered it."

A dark feeling was gathering in Rossi's stomach as Hotch wrote the next message down.

 _Give me the one Death refused to take and I will stay my hand_.

"The Basement Butcher thinks one of his victims is alive." Hotch told the team.

"Maybe the unsub had a mental break," Emily offered. "It would explain why the killings started up again."

"But if the unsub was delusional, I feel like they would have made a mistake somewhere." Morgan argued.

"Delusional doesn't mean they become messy; if they're paranoid one of their victims survived, they're not going to make a mistake. We know all the victims died." Emily shot back, still looking at the words on the board.

"Do we?" Rossi called softly, gaining the teams attention. He was looking at the pictures again "Do we really know they're all dead?" He asked, turning to them and they were surprised to see an angry look in his eyes.

"Yes," Emily drew the word out, sharing a confused look with the rest. "We have all the death certificates."

"Oh? And that means they're dead? Because a piece of paper said so?" Rossi snarled and Prentiss recoiled at the anger aimed at her.

"Rossi!" Hotch barked at the older man. "What do you see?" He asked because it was clear Rossi had found something they had missed.

"This boy is not dead." Rossi told them solemnly, pointing at a picture of Spencer Reid.

"Uh, Rossi," Morgan started off uneasily. "Hate to break it to you but that kid is-"

"Not dead!" Rossi cut in. "Not in this picture, at least." Grabbing two photos, he brought them over for the rest of the team to see. "Look at his eyes; the cornea clouds over after death. What do you see?"

"They're not cloudy." Prentiss whispered in shock, taking in the boys vibrant brown eyes.

"Exactly," Rossi commented. "And compare his pupils in the photos."

"The pupils become fixated after death; his are still reacting to the flash of the camera." Hotch noted and the older profiler nodded triumphantly.

"Spencer Reid was still alive when these photos were taken." Rossi told the shocked team.

"Yes, he was- and I would like to keep it that way." A new voice spoke up and the team looked up to see Chief Hartmut standing in the doorway.

* * *

 **Murphy's Law (one of many): If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something.**

This is story is also on AO3. It's the only one I have up and I have the same username.


	3. Chapter 2

The silence in the room was thick with tension as the team stared at the Chief of Police in disbelief. The man made a gruff grunting noise in the back of his throat; his feet rocked back and forth, showing the nervousness his hardened face denied.

"Well, at least I can see I made a good call when I invited you guys in; to think you'd figure that part out so easily," Hartmut grumbled. "I'm sure you'd like an explanation and you'll get one- but in a more private place. If you would join me in my office, Agent Hotchner?"

"I would like to listen to this explanation as well." Rossi was quick to cut in when he realized that the Chief was trying to save himself embarrassment and shame by only explaining his actions to one person instead of five. Grey eyes in a wrinkled face blinked in surprise but to Hartmut's credit, he did not raise a protest.

"Yeah, I'd also like to hear your reasons." Morgan agreed with a dark look on his face.

"No," Hotch intervened before anyone could protest or argue. "Rossi and I will be enough. I want you three to continue working here. Morgan, call Garcia and have her look up everything she can find about Spencer Reid." Hotch ordered, looking at his team. There was a silent stare down between Morgan and their leader before Morgan gave a stiff nod. They all understood that despite how they might feel about Hartmut's actions, alienating the man would not be wise.

The walk to Hartmut's office was short and quiet. As the profilers sat down on a red leather sofa, they heard Hartmut lock the door before sitting at his desk. Instead of talking, he took out his keys, opened a locked drawer and brought out a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass.

"Drinking on the job? Dangerous life choice there, my friend." Rossi said, ignoring a foot that was suddenly crushing his own.

"Your opinion of me is already in the sewer with all the other shit; what's one more awful secret to me?" Hartmut replied, taking his shot.

"You allowed a 10-year-old boy to be photographed by CSI while he was severely injured and barely hanging onto life. Did you think this knowledge would make us think highly of you?" Rossi asked in shock.

He was also somewhat certain Hotch had broken his foot by now.

"When you put it that way-"

"What other way is there to put it?!"

"Listen! I'm not proud of what I did, I- please, just listen. I'm not expecting you to think that what I did was right, but I did have Spencer Reid's best interest in mind."

Rossi would have loved to comment on that one but Hotch had taken a pre-emptive strike and had set his heel on top of Rossi's toes. A quick glance at Aaron's face had Rossi deciding he would listen.

. . .for the moment.

"The Basement Butcher is a tricky son of a bitch. The late 80s and early 90s were a terrifying time for families here, though most hadn't realized it until the 4th murder. That's when the media got wind and suddenly it was everywhere in Vegas! You couldn't change the damn channel without hearing about the murders. What's worse was the pressure the police were under. There were so many angry calls, wondering why we weren't "doing our jobs" and even more demands to "put this sicko behind bars." He put back another shot.

"By the time the 6th murder was discovered, the old Chief of Police had resigned. Oh, he gave a big speech about how sorry he was about all the murders happening. Then, he threw the whole force under the bus by saying we were ill-prepared or something like that. I really can't remember what he said because I was so angry. Despite pleas from his own officers, _he_ never bothered to look further into the case until all of Las Vegas was aware of the Basement Butcher. After much arguing over who would be the next Chief-nobody wanted it; cops were threatening to resign when they were offered-it was decided that I would be promoted to replace him," He let out a dry snort. "Worst promotion I've ever been offered but I figured someone had to step up."

"Now, I was on this case since the beginning and by the time the 3rd murder occurred, I began to get suspicious. DNA testing was nothing back then compared to today but this killer was so damn careful it was mindboggling," Hartmut threw his hands up in the air. "No finger prints on the doors! No finger prints on the windows! No signs of forced entry, the windows were locked, no stray hairs, no footprints-nothing! It was like a ghost came in, slaughtered everyone and left." He huffed before leaning forward on his desk and whispering like he was sharing a secret.

"And I thought to myself, "This isn't just someone being careful; this is someone who knows procedure."

"Serial killers can be very meticulous." Hotch pointed out.

"Oh, I know," Hartmut agreed. "Las Vegas hasn't had many serial killers but we make up for it in mobsters and hitmen. Trust me, those guys are only messy when they want to send a message to someone, otherwise its execution style. I thought it was the mob at first- figured the dad or mom made a loan they couldn't pay and the whole family paid for it. I ruled that out when we discovered the children had been tortured."

"If you have to kill a child, make it painless." Rossi quoted, thinking of old acquaintances.

"I forgot you guys deal with everyone, huh?" Hartmut gave a brittle chuckle. "Rule of thumb for them I guess; only time I've seen it broken is when ransom is involved but I digress. Another reason I ruled out the gangs was because there was no forced entrance or power lines cut. So how'd they get in without alerting any of the families?"

"Unlocked windows and doors weren't uncommon at the time." Hotch offered, "The unsub may have just been lucky when it came to choosing their victims."

"Unsub?" The older man asked blankly, filling up his glass again.

"Short for unknown subject. It's a fancy umbrella word for all the criminals we chase." Rossi helpfully supplied and let loose a quiet sigh when Hotch finally removed his heel from Rossi's foot.

"Ah. Well, call 'em whatever you'd like but I don't believe they were lucky in managing to pick out families with bad security habits. The only reason it takes so long to find the victims is because everyone thinks they're on vacation. No, whoever's doing this is watching and waiting for the right time to strike and dammit all, they've chosen perfectly every time."

"Back to the subject at hand; what makes you think it's a cop?" Rossi asked.

"Think about it. There was no forced entry or signs of struggle in any of the houses. How does one get into a locked house without breaking in?"

"The family lets them in." Hotch answered, beginning to see where to old cop was going.

"Bingo!" Hartmut cheered, holding his glass up before taking a drink. "Next question; what type of stranger does a person let into their house without any regards for their safety?"

"An authority figure," Rossi answered this time taking in the man with sharp eyes. "In all the reports I've read, I haven't seen that theory. Why is that?"

"Do I look stupid to you?" Hartmut snapped back. "Let's paint a picture: a cop working very diligently on a case thinks it's the work of a dirty cop. News breaks of the murders and the police suddenly become the publics #1 punching bag. That cop becomes Chief of Police to a force that's angry and losing confidence in itself. If the first thing out of that cop's mouth as leader was: "I think a cop is doing this." What do you think would have happened to him?"

"You'd be ostracized." Hotch answered.

"At best!" Hartmut snorted, slamming his shot glass down. "At worst I would have been shot. So you see, without proof, saying that this is the work of a cop would have been the worst thing to do. Oh, I kept tabs on people I suspected but came up empty handed. I was dreading when the Basement Butcher would strike again. After all, if we couldn't find anything the first six times, why would the seventh be any different?"

He let out an unsteady breath and folded his hands on his desk.

"I was the one that got lucky. When the call came in that screams were being heard from a house, I thought it would be a domestic violence case. Not really something the newly minted Chief of Police should check out but something in my gut told me I needed to go, so I did."

He buried his head in his hands.

"When we got there it was silent. The door was locked. Did you know that? That he locks the doors when he's done? Keeping up appearances, I guess. So we had to kick down the door- not hard, we've done that hundreds of times. Scoped out the surroundings; everything was in order. No fallen lamps, no broken furniture or anything like that. We had to turn on the lights because he turned them off when he left; the call came around 12:30 AM so again, keeping up appearances. The kitchen had plates set with chicken and mashed potatoes. The food must've been sitting there for hours- it's like they were in the middle of eating and just got up and left. We checked the bedrooms and the bathroom. There was no sign of a struggle. The boy's room was interesting; it was filled with toys but there were books on his shelf that college kids would have had a hard time understanding. He had a little blue suitcase all packed up with a sticker of some equation on it- I couldn't tell you what, I was never good at math. I heard my guys call clear in the other rooms. We were starting to think we'd gone to the wrong house or it was prank call when I noticed the door to the basement. I asked my officers if they had been down and they told me no."

A shuddery breath.

"It was locked you know? He locked them down there to die in the dark. A mass grave with no dirt. I was the first to find them. I, I don't know what I was thinking when I first saw them because it was so unexpected; those slumped forms huddled together. When it clicked- when I saw the blood and the ropes, I understood. I yelled up for an ambulance. Two officers came down to help me investigate. We figured the family was already dead but standard protocol is to check for a pulse."

Another intake.

"I really did think that boy was dead. God, there was so much blood on him, how could he be alive? But his pulse was there- weak and uneven but it was there. I almost told them but I didn't; I told them he was dead." Hartmut whispered his confession to the quiet room; eyes on the table to avoid the agents accusing stares..

"Why?"

He gave a defeated shrug. "I had caught on by then. This was the work of the Basement Butcher without all the weeks in between. We had struck gold. Not only did we have a fresh crime scene, we had a victim that was still breathing. The first thing I thought of when I realized he was alive was that the Butcher had made a mistake. This person is so meticulous despite the mess they leave behind; I was worried for the boy's safety. The more people who knew he was alive, the more likely it would get back to the Butcher. I didn't know how far this killer would go to finish the job. I guess we know now, huh?"

"So what happened next? What happened to Spencer Reid?" Rossi asked, still angry despite understanding the Chief's actions.

"Thankfully, CSI reached the house before the ambulance. I had them do photographs first- specifically of Spencer so that when the ambulance did come, he would be the first loaded on. They thought I was rushing them but I didn't care. Someone radioed that the ambulance had arrived and I told them to send the EMT's down. I made everyone else leave. I told them I needed to talk to the EMT's about crime scene confidentiality. Complete bull but when you're in charge, people don't question your decisions; at least, not to your face."

"I sincerely hope you didn't try to fool the first responders." Rossi said with a cocked eyebrow.

"No. The moment they came down I told them what was going on. They were furious. What was I thinking, standing around talking while this boy was bleeding to death? I explained and they didn't like it- told me it was a violation of ethics-

"It was." Rossi cut in and Hartmut ignored him.

"-but they understood my reasoning. Of course, they were even more furious when I told them to black bag him."

Both profilers stared at the man in disbelief.

"You _what_?!" Rossi yelled, standing up. "You mean to tell me that in an effort to make the unsub think that all his victims were dead, you told first responders to black bag the kid instead of treating him? Are you out of your mind?"

"Only until they got him into the ambulance!" Hartmut hurried to explain. "It would look odd not to bag the body-"

"How hard would it have been to send the boy to the hospital and then tell the press he died on the operating table?" Rossi steamed rolled over the other. "Because between all the time you wasted making Spencer Reid look dead, he might have actually died!"

"I- I know," Hartmut's voice cracked. "Truly, I do. At the time I was making hasty choices that could have led to disaster. I know I violated ethics codes across the board making up that ruse and I probably broke a bunch of other moral laws. I've had 10 years to stew over my choices, agents. I know I messed up."

"So how does this story end?" Hotch asked as Rossi sat down. Calm though he looked, Rossi could hear the anger that Aaron kept under tight control.

"The EMT's did black bag him if only because they realized it would be quicker than arguing with me. They took him to the hospital and two other ambulances were called for Diana and William Reid. Knowing Spencer was getting treatment was a relief. I let CSI do their jobs, talked to the neighbors had called us and stayed until clean up. It was close to 4AM when I left the crime scene. I went to the hospital and discreetly asked about a boy who had been brought in earlier. It had been a slow night and they informed me-after I showed my badge- that he was currently in surgery. I waited until he was out to talk to the doctor. Poor kid had a collapsed lung due to a knife wound. I only saw him once. He looked so frail lying in that hospital bed with the ventilation machine pumping air into his body."

"What do you mean, 'you only saw him once'?" Hotch asked, noticing the odd phrasing in Hartmut's narrative. After all this man had done to make everyone think Spencer Reid had died, surely he would have stayed to interview the boy once Spencer was better.

"Exactly what I mean; I never saw him again. I had called Witness Protection the next day. I thought if anyone could make that kid disappear and be safe, it'd be them. I did not take into account that they wouldn't let me see him," Hartmut huffed. "I went back two weeks later to interview him- the doctor had told me Spencer should be off the machine by then- and the nurse told me his name wasn't in the system; it had never been there, according to her. I told her two weeks ago a boy had been admitted with a collapsed lung but she told me it was not in their records."

"Witness Protection moves fast." Rossi commented.

"I'll say. I checked his old room but there was another person in there. I tracked down the doctor and he pretended he had never met me! The next day I received mail from the morgue containing Spencer Reid's death certificate."

"Moved really fast." Rossi said, barely holding back a smile.

"Laugh all you'd like. I got the message: don't meddle into the whereabouts of Spencer Reid. I missed my chance to ask him what happened but maybe that's a good thing. He was safe and that's all that mattered. I shifted my focus and waited for the Basement Butcher's next move but he faded out of existence."

"Until now."

"Until now," Hartmut nodded. "Do you understand, agents? Why I did what I did?"

"Understanding is not the same as condoning. Your reasons were understandable; you wanted to save a young boy. The way you went about it was reckless and unworthy of a man of your position. By all rights, you should have been fired. I think we're done here." Hotch said bluntly as he stood up, Rossi following.

"Wait!" Hartmut called as they made for the door. "There's something I need to give you."

Both agents watched as he opened his desk drawer and began fumbling through his files. A short moment later Hartmut pulled out manila folder. "I think this will help your team immensely."

Hotch strode over and took the folder. Opening it, he scanned through the papers and his eyebrows slowly rose up in surprise.

"These are the missing toxicology and autopsy reports on the Reid family," Hotch stated for Rossi's sake as he tucked the folder under his arm. "Why were they in your desk?"

"I told you I think this is the work of someone in law enforcement. When the murders started up again, I went through the files, took everything I felt was important and disorganized the rest. I don't know if the killer is one of my men but if he is, he'll think we're ill-prepared and that we lost those files in the move here." Hartmut ended with a smirk.

"Thank you." Hotch said as they left, closing the door behind him.

"What a paranoid man." Rossi muttered as they made their way back to the team.

"He's not the first paranoid cop we've met." Hotch reminded the other.

"No but he's certainly the most open about it!"

"Something we should be thankful for; he could have hid this and watched us struggle." Hotch pointed out as they entered the conference room.

"So what did he tell you?" Morgan asked, perking up when the two entered the room. "Because I have a feeling there was a very interesting reason why he let a 10-year- old kid be photographed while he was bleeding out."

"Oh, you guys are going to love this." Rossi said with relish as he told them the tale.

"I can't tell if you're pulling my leg or not." Morgan said when Rossi had finished.

"He's not." Hotch responded, still reading through the reports Hartmut had given him.

"That is one of the dumbest things I've ever heard," Emily snorted. "I understand his motives but why didn't he just say Spencer Reid died on the operating table?"

"I asked the same thing, Emily." Rossi told her with a sage nod.

"What did Garcia find out about Spencer Reid?" Hotch asked.

"He wasn't your typical kid," Morgan stated, catching both Hotch's and Rossi's attention. "Spencer Reid was a certified genius. He had just finished his freshman year of high school and he was going to be bumped up to a junior the next semester. Garcia said he had an eidetic memory- meaning he could remember everything he'd read which explains why he was a spelling bee champion 5 years in a row."

"Did she find out anything about him after the murder?" Rossi asked.

"Nothing beyond the obituary but if Witness Protection was involved, he'd have a new identity. He was probably moved out of state," Morgan speculated. "I told her to check the other families and see if any of them were exceptionally smart. She should be calling back pretty soon."

Right as Morgan finished talking his phone rang. With a grin he put it on speaker phone.

"Hey Baby Girl, you're on speaker. Whatcha got for me?"

"Not what you were hoping for, Chocolate Thunder," Garcia's voice rang throughout the room. "Spencer Reid was the only certified genius out of all the victims. Some had above average intelligence but nothing that would get them into Mensa."

"Garcai, we found out Spencer Reid had been taken into Witness Protection. Can you get access to their database?" Hotch asked.

"He did? Thank goodness! That poor munchkin went through a lot. I can get into the WP database and find him." Garcia babbled over the sound of her keyboard.

"Legally?" Hotch asked suspiciously.

"By legally, are you asking me if I have a username and password? If so, then yes. Completely legal. If you're asking me if they're _mine_ , then, well, uh, a friend owed me a favor and we'll just leave it at that."

"Garcia." Hotch warned, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as JJ and Emily barely contained their giggles.

"Too late!" She sang out, "I'm already in and what do you know? Only one Spencer Reid was entered into the database in 1990. Let's see here, Spencer Reid, race: white, age: 10, eyes: brown, hair: brown, height: 4'8, weight: 70lbs. Needed corrective lenses and has an IQ of 187. Pretty spot on description of our missing boy, huh?"

"It's him, Garcia. Where is he now?" Morgan asked when he heard Hotch give a deep sigh. Garcia must have heard it too because she answered seriously.

"He was treated for a collapsed lung and other life threatening injuries at Sunrise Hospital. He stayed in ICU for three weeks and then moved to a regular room to recover from the stab wounds. After his health was cleared he was- oh my god!" She yelled, startlingly everyone.

"What is it? What'd you find, Baby Girl?" Morgan asked, concern coloring his voice.

"I-no, that can't be right! That's not-" Her voice trembled and trailed off into a little sniff.

"What is it, Garcia?" Hotch asked, sharing a look with Rossi. Had the boy died?

"At the age of 10, under the alias Pierce Derns, Spencer Reid was admitted to the Children's Mercy Hospital."

"I don't understand, Garcia, why is it a big deal that he switched hospitals?" Morgan asked, sharing a confused look with everyone.

There was a moment of silence before Garcia spoke.

"It's a psychiatric hospital." Garcia told them with a shaky breath.

* * *

 **** **Murphy's Law (one of many)** **: If you perceive that there are four possible ways in which a procedure can go wrong and circumvent these, then a fifth way, unprepared for, will promptly develop.**


	4. Chapter 3

"That can't be right." Rossi said. "Regardless of if Spencer Reid needed psychiatric help or not, he should have been taken out of state. That's the whole point of witness protection and, while there are no official rules on where witnesses are relocated to, they are always taken out of state."

"Well someone must have missed that memo because Children's Mercy Hospital is 3 miles from Sunrise." Garcia said, her voice still shaking a little.

"Does it say why he was admitted?" Emily asked.

"Let's see –ah, here we go! There's a note in here from the agent that acted as Spencer Reid's handler. He made an appeal to keep Spencer in Las Vegas due to his mental health and it was granted."

"Who was his handler, Garcia?" Hotch asked.

"Agent Devin Mosser, sir."

"Can you access his reports? Those should give us some clarity on his reasons and why his request was accepted."

"Um, hold on," Garcia said and the team heard the tell-tale sounds of her typing away through the speaker. "According to Agent Mosser, Spencer Reid was suffering from hallucinations. He was paranoid, would lash out violently, and was seen talking to people who weren't there." Garcia sniffled. "Poor baby. He insisted his parents were in his hospital room on several occasions. He saw someone else too, but he never said who. It was noted that when he experienced these hallucinations, he sometimes became so terrified that he stopped breathing and often went into a catatonic state. Agent Mosser felt that getting him treatment was priority over relocation. Mosser's request was granted soon after the doctors at Sunrise diagnosed Spencer Reid with schizophrenia."

"This kid just couldn't catch a break, could he?" Morgan muttered.

"Maybe the doctors were wrong." JJ said as the mood in the room became heavy. "He was diagnosed shortly after he survived a traumatizing event. We've interviewed many victims who've had similar reactions and they weren't schizophrenic."

"But Diana Reid was." Emily said, picking up one the files. "I was reading up on her. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia in her late 20s. Signs of schizophrenia have been known to show up in the late teens and early 20s, but traumatic experiences have been known to cause it to surface sooner. The doctors might not be wrong."

"You have a point, Emily, but something feels off about this." Rossi said.

"What do you mean?"

"It just feels a little too convenient. This agent's job was, above all else, to make sure Spencer Reid was safe. I understand that psychiatric treatment is important, but Las Vegas is less than 2 hours from the California border. You're telling me this agent couldn't keep an injured 10-year-old under control for that small amount of time? That he couldn't even get him out of the city? US Marshals have control over the Witness Protection program- Mosser had the ability and connections to make arrangements with a psych ward near the border!" Rossi shook his head. "Something's not adding up here. Why was it so important to keep Spencer Reid in Vegas?"

"Uh, I don't think it was Spencer Reid that needed to stay in Vegas." Garcia said. "I'm looking up Devin Mosser and, well, I'm no accountant, but the wages he made as a US Marshal seem way too high."

"Let me guess, he was making some deals with some shady people?" Morgan asked.

"He was never indicted for anything. But! Before he was assigned to Spencer Reid, he was seizing assets from multiple gangs in Vegas. Although, many of those assets –drugs and weapons, mostly- never made it to evidence and were reported as lost." She paused for a moment before continuing. "Funny enough, some of those assets showed up again a few years later after being seized from a local mob family."

Morgan whistled. "Seizing drugs and weapons from the gangs and turning back around to sell them to the mafia? That's ballsy."

"That's probably why he was reassigned." Hotch said. "US Marshals probably caught on but they had no proof it was him. Their best option was to reassign him to Spencer Reid. Where is Devin Mosser now, Garcia?"

"Dead." She promptly replied. "He was killed in a drug related incident in 1995. Go figure."

"And Spencer Reid?" Rossi asked. "He'd be 20 now, so he still can't be at Children's Mercy."

"That," Garcia said after a moment of hesitation. "I don't know."

"Really? It's not in any of the records?"

"No. There's nothing in here about his current whereabouts."

"Who's his new handler?" Hotch asked.

Garcia didn't answer but they could her typing away. Then, only silence.

"Garcia?"

"He wasn't assigned a new handler." Garcia said, voice quiet. "There's a note saying that since the Basement Butcher was no longer active, Spencer Reid was considered safe thanks to his new identity as Pierce Derns. He hasn't been in Witness Protection since 1995."

"What? But he would have only been 15 at the time. He couldn't have been taken in by family – if he has any living relatives left. He had to have been turned over to the state. That or he was moved to an adult facility after turning 18." Emily managed to say through her shock.

"Witness Protection is meticulous but their funds aren't infinite. Most of the people they take in, they take in for life. It doesn't matter if you betrayed a mob boss 20 years ago, the family will remember and they will find you if you let your guard down. Same goes for some abusive spouses. Let's be honest here, not many people are put into witness protection because a serial killer's after them. WP was probably keeping tabs on local police reports and when nothing showed up for 5 years, they decided it was safe to let the kid go with his new name." Rossi said before frowning. "You are right though. It doesn't explain why he was released as a minor. Mosser was already one mistake on their part; I can't imagine they would let another one pass so easily."

"Garcia, does it say when he was released from Children's Mercy?" Hotch asked.

"No, sir. He was still in there as of Mosser's last check in, which was two weeks before his death."

"What about Children's Mercy, Garcia?" Morgan asked. "Can you access their records?"

"Give me a sec," she hummed. They could hear her tapping away for a moment before going silent. An annoyed sigh came through the speaker. "I can get to the records but it's not going to do you much good."

"Why's that?"

"Because Children's Mercy Hospital was shut down in January of 1996. They re-opened in 1998 and changed their name to Health Way Institute. They have their own server so I can get into their records. It wouldn't make sense for them to upload records of patients who are no longer there. I can check just to make sure but I doubt the name Spencer Reid or Peirce Derns is going to show up."

"Check it, Garcia." Hotch ordered her. "And find out why Children's Mercy shut their doors. Take your time. You can inform us tomorrow."

"Will do, sir! Garcia out!" She chirped as she hung up.

Hotch withheld a sigh. The first day and this case was already complicated. A new family murdered; files with little evidence to use; a paranoid Chief of Police and the one person that could help them was out of their grasp and nowhere to be found. A quick glance at his team showed that they were still suffering from jet lag; they did their best to hide it but he could see in their eyes how tired they were. There was no point in continuing on at the moment.

"Let's stop for the day. Morgan, Rossi, I want you to head over to the Children's Mercy first thing in the morning. Even if it's not on a computer, there should be paper records somewhere." Hotch turned to Emily and JJ. "Emily, you're with me. We're going to interview the Barnes' neighbors and check in with the coroner. JJ, I want you to go down to the news stations and talk to the reporters. See what angle they're aiming for and if we can hold them off from saying anything. When we're done we'll meet back here and look at this case with fresh eyes. This isn't the first case to throw us a curve ball. We'll figure it out."

At least, he hoped they would. For the sake of every family that the Basement Butcher was eyeing, they had to.

* * *

 **Murphy's Law (one of many): Left to themselves, things tend to go from bad to worse.**

 **A/N: I know this is short compared to the other chapters and I'm sorry if it's disappointing. I edited the other chapters. Nothing big, just minor issues.**

 **It's been a bad year. I'm trying. That's all I can promise. I hope you guys have had a better year than me.**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 5**

Upon reaching Healthy Way Institute, Rossi was surprised to see the white building had a warm and welcoming atmosphere inside. Even from the front lobby he could see the rooms of several patients; all of them had little personal touches –stuffed animals, pictures, books – nothing like the sterile padded rooms he was used to seeing.

The receptionist was polite even after they flashed their badges and asked to look at some old records. A quick phone call and they were being taken to the storage room by the director of the facility, Thomas Green.

"When the hospital reopened, the staff was replaced but we kept the files of patients who weren't transferred to different facilities just to be on the safe side." Green said as he turned on the lights. "Those cabinets are the ones you'll be interested in." he said, pointing to two large filing cabinets that were gathering dust in the corner.

"If they weren't transferred, where'd they go?" Rossi asked as Morgan opened one of cabinet drawers. The manila folders inside had the patients' names listed in alphabetical order by last name. He started thumbing through, waiting for 'Derns, Pierce' to catch his eye.

"Some parents decided they'd keep their children at home and care for them. After what happened here, a lot of parents didn't trust mental hospitals and I can't blame them."

"What happened?" Rossi asked, looking around the room. It wasn't a small room but it felt small with all the filing cabinets stuffed inside. His nose itched at all the dust in the air. Housekeeping hadn't been in here for some time. One of the lights was emitting a low buzzing noise. It would probably burn out soon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Green stiffen and rub his arm at the question. ' _Well, well, we might get more out of this visit than I though_.' He turned his full attention to Green.

"Why did the parents lose trust, Mr. Green?"

Green sucked in a breath before replying. "You have to understand times were a little tense – I'm sure you've heard of Willowbrook State School?"

"Of course. Hard to forget something like _that_. Closed in '87 when reports about the staff abusing and experimenting on children proved to be true. A reporter snuck in and caught damning evidence of it on tape. They couldn't deny anything after that and it only got worse for them as more evidence was discovered." Rossi said. He remembered watching the news report on Willowbrook . He hoped the children at Children's Mercy hadn't suffered a similar fate.

"Yes. Even though almost 10 years had passed, the abuse that happened at Willowbrook was still fresh in the minds of both parents and mental health professionals. So when similar reports and arrests happened at this facility, well, bribing the press to keep quiet took a lot of money. The only reason the parents stayed silent was because that was part of the settlement deal: they would get monetary compensation but had to agree to a gag order." Green paused, waiting to see if either agent had any questions.

Morgan and Rossi stayed quiet so he continued on.

"Several staff members were arrested for patient abuse. I wasn't here, obviously, so I don't know the details. And asking around will only get you exaggerated rumors. I don't think anyone was sentenced for life but most were doctors, so they lost their licenses and are serving time. I've heard some nurses and therapists were involved as well." Green scowled. "For a mental health professional to abuse their privileges is deplorable in all aspects. Makes me sick."

"So you don't know any of the former staff?"

"I've never met any of them in person. Everybody's heard of each other. This isn't a saturated profession and I doubt it ever will be."

"What were your thoughts on them? Even if you've never met them, surely you've formed some opinions thanks to the grapevine." Rossi asked, trying to get something out of the man. He didn't think Green was hiding anything but any information was welcomed.

"I try not to judge people based on hearsay, Mr. Rossi." Green frowned at him. "That's how misconceptions are born. I would think somebody with a profession like yours would know that."

"Regardless, if you heard anything, remember anything, I'd like to hear it." Rossi replied, staying calm and ignoring Morgan's suppressed laughter that floated over from the filing cabinet. "Even if you think it's insignificant. Every detail means something to us."

Green stayed silent for a moment before sighing.

"I honestly don't know what to tell you. I've never met any of them. Mental illness is something a lot of doctors take a stab at but few stick with. None of them are memorable." Right after he said this, Green sucked in a breath of surprise. "Wait! I know someone who would know about what happened here. Lindsay Parker; she was the director before me. We were in the same graduating class at university."

"I thought you said you didn't know any of the former staff here." Rossi said with an arched brow.

"Ah, well, I thought so too. It's not like we were friends. We had to partner up a few times for class projects. Do you remember all of your acquaintances from over 20 years ago?"

"How would you describe her?" Rossi asked, deciding to ignore the challenge in the other man's voice.

"Lindsay was special. She was a blessing to this field. Young, fairly attractive and dipped in charisma. She did a lot of public speaking and knew how to draw people to her side. She was passionate about mental health and very vocal in her opinions about advocating better funding for psychiatric services for children. Never heard a negative thing about her, even after Children's Mercy closed."

"And where is she now? Do you know?"

"No clue. She might have moved to avoid being associated with Children's Mercy. It might not have gone public but enough people knew about it. I doubt she could have found another job like that in Nevada."

"I see. I imagine, then, that you don't know any of the patients that left." Rossi was trying his best to ignore the headache that this case was causing him. He had hoped Green would know more but he could tell from the man's posture and manners that he was being nothing but truthful.

"No. I worked in Henderson before I was offered this job. As director, I know what type of illness they were diagnosed with and what type of medications they were prescribed; but whatever was confessed to the therapist stayed with the therapist." Green tilted his head. "Besides you flashing your badges and asking to see our old records, I'm not sure what you're looking for. If it's about what happened, I really don't know anything."

"We're currently working on a missing person case. He used to be a patient here." Rossi said and left it at that. Green opened his mouth but another voice spoke.

"Rossi," Morgan called out, holding up a manila envelope. "Found it."

"I don't suppose the name Pierce Derns means anything to you?" Morgan asked as he handed off the file to Rossi. Green shook his head.

"No, I'm sorry. Like I said, I didn't know any of the patients. Please feel free to take the file with you; it's not doing anyone good here."

"Thank you for your cooperation, director." Rossi flipped through the file. It was rather thick as far as medical files went. His eyes caught several photos of Spencer Reid. The kid looked miserable in some; in others he looked like a corpse propped up. Rossi sucked in a breath. Several names also passed by in a quick blur but this wasn't the time or place to study the papers. Tucking the envelope under his arm he began walking towards the door. "Unless you have any other information, I think this is all we need."

"I've told you all I know. Thank you for visiting. I hope I was able to help you. I'll see you out."

As Green walked them to the door, Rossi fervently prayed Children's Mercy hadn't been as big of a shit show as Willowbrook. He hoped that Spencer Reid had been able to heal and relax. That is what Rossi hoped.

Judging by the pictures he had seen, that hadn't been the case.

* * *

"Well this isn't good, is it?" Rossi said barely holding back a sigh as Morgan growled in disgust. They had decided to pull into an empty parking lot and look over the files before heading back.

The documents did not paint Children's Mercy staff in a good light. Spencer Reid had several different doctors during his stay and all of them had a different diagnosis for him. If one thought he was bi-polar, then another thought he was schizophrenic, and another one said, no, he clearly had borderline personality disorder. Another doctor couldn't decide and kept switching his diagnosis. It was the pictures, though, that really showed what life was like for a patient at Children's Mercy.

The first photo showed Spencer Reid being restrained as he was being injected with a drug, his head being held down by an orderly. The next showed him looking at a grey pile of mush on a plate, eyes blank and drooping. Another one of the kid, brown hair shave down to a buzz cut, tears in his brown eyes that were looking straight at the camera, pleading for something as muscular arms wrapped around his waist. The last was of him huddled in a corner of a white room, doing his best to disappear.

"I'm gonna call Garcia and see if she can figure just what the hell these people were thinking." Morgan said, hitting the speed button with more force than necessary.

She answered after one ring.

"This is Penelope Garcia, Goddess of the Internet and all things Information. What favors can I grant my favorite mortal today?"

"Hey Garcia, Rossi and I just finished up at Healthy Way. We got Spencer Reid's medical file and I was wondering if you could track down some people for me." Moragn asked.

"Give me the names, baby."

"Ok, Reid had four doctors during his stay: John Riggs, Marvin Dell, Stanley Crumps, and David Fisher. Think you can get any info on them?"

"Their names are a bit ordinary but thankfully their profession is not. Dell passed away last year in a car accident. Crumps move in 93 to Seattle. He works in psych ward at Seattle Children's Hospital. Fisher is . . . oh, that's not good."

"What's not good, Garcia?" Morgan asked, hearing her cheerful tone take a dive. "What'd you find?"

"Hold on. Give me a sec, sugar. I'm checking something." Morgan could barely hear her voice over the loud clicks and tap. Whatever caught her eye had her typing quickly. He waited, putting her on speaker phone, until the tapping died away.

"David Fisher and John Riggs were convicted on patient abuse and medical malpractice in 1996 – the same year Children's Mercy closed. Both were found guilty of sexually abusing multiple minors. They were also found guilty of misusing prescription drugs. Both had their license revoked and were sentenced to 25 years."

"What prison are they at, Garcia?" Rossi asked as he shared a look with Morgan. No doubt these two were involved in the scandal that caused Children's Mercy to close their door. "Does it say anything about their victims?"

"No names due to them being minors but the descriptions of the crimes indicate they were all female." Garcia said. "Both were at Lovelock Correctional Center but you don't need to bother. Riggs died in a prison riot in 1999 and Fisher was found hanging from a sheet 6 months after being sentenced. It was ruled a suicide."

"Ok, can you look up two other people for us, Garcia?" Rossi asked as he flipped though the files again.

"Are they going to be as sick as the guys I just pulled up?"

"Possibly. See if you can find a Carlos Gutierrez and Lindsay Parker." Rossi continued, ignoring her reluctance. "Gutierrez was an orderly assigned to Reid and Parker was the director at Children's Mercy."

"Let's see. Carlos Gutierrez is currently incarcerated at the High Dessert State Prison. He's serving time for a gang related murder and various drug charges. Says he was affiliated with a street gang called the Vegas Sol Kings. If you want, I can call ahead and see if they can set you guys up an interview."

"Please do. The fact that he's alive and was actually with Reid is a miracle at this point." Rossi grumbled.

"Anything on Lindsay Parker, Garcia?" Morgan asked. "The current director said she probably had to leave Nevada after Children's Mercy closed. It's gonna suck if she's on the other side of the country."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that, Sugar Man." Garcia's tone had turned strange. It sounded like she was trying to stay cheerful but the tension and anger could still be heard. "Gosh, her mugshot is pretty. She looks like a beauty queen. I wonder how she managed that?"

"Mugshot?" Both men asked after sharing a look of surprise.

"Yep, yep. Your girl is serving a life sentence at Florence McClure Women's Correctional Facility. For the misuse and abuse of prescription drugs and several accounts of patient abuse including neglect, sexual assault and rape – all of which the victims were minors. She was also charged with producing and distributing child porn. There're also charges in here for fraud and theft." Garcia whistled. "Lindsay Parker might look like a model but she's got more charges in here than your gang member. You want me to set up an interview with her?"

"Set it up for tomorrow, Garcia." Morgan said, starting the vehicle. "I want to study the file a little more before talking with her. Send everything you find on her back to conference room. Everything – even if it seems small and insignificant, I want to know about it."

"You got. I'll notify High Dessert you're heading their way. Garcia out!" She said before the line went dead.

"Is it just me or does it seem like every person of interest in this case is dead or in prison?" Rossi asked as they merged onto the highway."

"Hey, up 'til today, everyone we wanted to talk to was dead or missing. Consider this a step up." Morgan grinned as he hit the gas.

* * *

"Man, it's been awhile since I've been in one of these rooms. Should I be scared? I ain't done nothing that the cops don't know about." Carlos asked.

"We're just here to ask you a few questions, Mr. Gutierrez." Rossi said, taking a seat across from the man. Morgan remained standing with his arms crossed. Carlos scowled.

"Is this about that bullshit lie that I raped one of Los Loco's girls? It ain't true, man. I swear! I've never even seen one of their girls and even if I had, I ain't ever touched a woman against her will. You don't commit a sin like that without rubbin' shoulders with the devil. Ain't no honor in it."

"You and several of your guys are in here for murder." Morgan pointed out. "There's no honor in that either."

"My gun went off on accident! I wasn't trying to kill anyone. Lil' Manny thought he could swindle us and we wanted to show him we weren't playin' around. I swear on Mother Mary that we weren't trying to kill him. Just wanted to rough him up and scare him." Carlos ran his hands over his bent head, showing off the tattoo that covered his forearm. It was Mary wearing a somber expression, hands clasped in prayer. The words Sol Kings were inked on his knuckles. "Why you bringing this up anyway? I've been sentenced for that. Between that and the drug charges I'm in here 'til I'm an old man. I can't give you any names. I'm no saint but I ain't no rat either."

"We're not here about the murder of Emmanuel Martinez. Nothing you tell us today will increase the sentence you're serving and it has nothing to do with your affiliation with the Vegas Sol Kings."

Carlos Gutierrez studied them. They could see confusion and hesitation flash in his eyes before he heaved a big sigh and shrugged. "Ok. I don't trust cops but I don't have much of a choice here. Sides, I'm curious. Don't know what you want with me if it ain't about the gang or the murder."

"Several years ago you were employed at Children's Mercy Hospital. Is this true?"

"Children's Mercy?" Carlso scratched his head before laughing. "Oh! You mean the crazy house for all the messed up kiddies. Yeah. I worked there for a little bit. Started in '89 and was fired in '94, I think. Kinda surprised I lasted as long as I did; wasn't worth the pay and I always felt creeped out. I feel safer on the streets than I did in there. Hell, I feel safer in here. Couldn't tell who was crazier- the kids or the staff."

"Can you tell us anything you remember about working there?" Morgan asked.

"I can tell you loads of stuff about that place. I'm a religious man but I was on the fence about possessions. After working there, man, I can tell you they exist and those demons are strong. There was this one girl, she had to have been around 8, who I thought was going to go full Exorcist on my ass. I wouldn't have been surprised to see her crawling up the walls with her head twisted all the way 'round." Carlos shuddered and made the sign of the cross. "Why you want to know anyway? That place shut down not long after I was arrested – I saw it in the news. Can't remember why. None of the kids escaped and went on a murder spree did they? I feel like I'd remember that. Wait," Carlos sat up a little straighter; eyes bright with interest and mouth stretched in a grin – showing of a gold tooth. "Is this about Lindsay Parker? That bitch finally get what was comin' to her? Homies, I know I said I wasn't a rat but that lady needs to go to the slammer."

"You remember Lindsay Parker?" Morgan asked and Carlos laughed.

"Remember? She was my boss! I got all my assignments from her. Total slave-driver. That and she was always cutting corners and cheating us. You know how many times I worked overtime and was denied rightful pay?"

"How many times?" Morgan asked. The more Carlos talked, the better chance they had at finding Spencer Reid.

"Too many to count! Course I didn't know that at the time. I mean, I knew I was being cheated but I didn't know how much she was skimming off of us workers. I was just a dumb kid who needed a job so I didn't complain."

"You'll be happy to know Lindsay Parker is currently serving a life sentence." Rossi said and Carlos' eyebrows rose in surprise.

"What? That's a harsh sentence for fraud."

"She's not serving time for fraud, Mr. Gutierrez."

"If she ain't in for being a cheat then I don't know-" Carlos cut himself off and his eyes went wide with shock as he looked at the investigators. He slapped his hands on the table a few times. "Oh, shit. Oh, shit! It was true?! I know she had several people in her pocket but was she. . ." Carlos' voice became quieter; as if he was afraid to finish his sentence. "Was she really sellin' the kids to some of the doctors?"

"Mr. Gutierrez, Lindsay Parker is currently serving a life sentence for several crimes. For the misuse and abuse of prescription drugs; several counts of patient abuse and neglect along with a slew of sexual assault charges as well as fraud. Oh, and three very steep fines handed down to her by the health inspectors. Several doctors and nurses are also serving time and have had their licenses revoked for malpractice."

"Good. They deserve it. Sick fucks." Carlos made a move as if to spit on the floor but thought better of it.

"If you knew, why didn't you report it?" Morgan asked.

"It was just a rumor floatin' around when I started there. It died within my first month. Now that I think about it, though, the people that told me had been let go. But even if I did have proof who do you think the cops are going to believe? One Mexican dropout or a bunch of white people with medical degrees? 'Sides, I couldn't afford to call the cops; I was initiated into the Sol Kings. Anyway, those people were snakes. I saw the doctors and nurses scream and hit the kids and force feed 'em a few times but the other stuff? Never saw any of that." Carlos frowned.

"Did any of the children say anything to you about it?"

"No, which is why I thought it was all smoke and mirrors. Those kids were batshit insane but they weren't stupid – not by a long shot. I had one who was paranoid their food was poisoned and they let everyone know the cooks were trying to kill them every day like clockwork. But I dunno, maybe the crazy in them warped it all up into a spitball and they just spat it out and forgot. That or Lindsay said somethin' to 'em to keep 'em quiet. Whatever it was, they weren't talkin'. Closest evidence that something shady was going on was some bloodstained sheets and in a place like that, that doesn't mean much."

"Why do you say that?"

"When I was an aide I had to do a bunch of gross stuff. Restraining a kid covered in blood, shit, and puke was a daily thing. Picking up soiled linen and clothes was nothing new. It was normal to find bloody sheets. Lotta of those kids cut themselves with anything they could get their hands on; some weren't even doing consciously. They just hurt themselves cuz they could. I'm tellin' you, possessions are real. " Carlos shuddered. "Part of my job was bathing the boys that couldn't be trusted alone. I kinda noticed that some of them would have bruises around their thighs and bite-marks that were too big to be their own. A few times there was blood around their. . .y'know." He ended, curling one hand to make an 'O'. "But I thought maybe they might have been fighting one of the older kids and got their ass beat. Way of the beasts with those kids when it comes to fighting. Biting, pulling, scratching, gouging – dirty fighting aint in their vocab. Still, it did seem off to me so I asked some of the others about it."

"What did they say?" Morgan asked.

"Not much. I would say something like, 'Did Johnny get into a fight? Cuz he's fucked up.' They'd laugh and say, 'He's always fucked up! What's new?' and then they'd change the subject. One of them must have had a hard on for Lindsay cuz not two days later she wrote me up for bogus reasons and threatened to fire me. Sorta needed the job so I kept my head down and stayed quiet." Carlos rubbed his eyes. "This was awhile back so I might be gettin' some stuff mixed up. Shit! I feel so fuckin' stupid. I know you guys don't like my kind but I aint a monster. I would have done something to shut that shit down if I knew, I swear."

"You're doing fine. Those victims are getting their justice." Rossi said. "Tell me, do you remember any of the patients you were assigned to? Did any of them stick out to you?"

"Homie, they all stuck out." Carlos sighed. There was a moment of silence before his shoulders made an awkward shuffle and his face suggested he had thought of something.

"Carlos? Did you remember something?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah, um, but the kid I'm thinkin' of wasn't dragged into Lindsay's prostitution ring. She hated him and avoided him; which is weird now that I think about it. He did get beat up a lot and the other aides didn't like being assigned to him because he always fought taking his meds. I didn't mind him though; he was cool."

"What was his name?"

"Spencer. I called him Spency though."

Rossi stiffened and shared a look with Morgan. They were thinking the same thing; Carlos Guiterrez should not have known that name. Witness Protection should have erased any trace of Spencer Reid after Hartmut had called them. An idea was beginning to form in Rossi's head and it left a heavy feeling in his gut.

"We didn't find any records of a Spencer at Children's Mercy." He heard Morgan say. Carlos blinked and then laughed.

"Oh, yeah. That's because his real name was Pierce or Pierre, something like that. But I never called him that."

"How'd you get Spencer from Pierce?" Morgan asked and Carlos shrugged.

"That's what he wanted to be called. Poor little guy was sedated when they had brought him in and woke up alone in a white room. I don't think his dad told him he was admitting him. Heard he caused havoc the first few nights before quieting down. Everyone called him a hell raiser but he never bothered me. When I was first assigned to him I was nervous as hell. Some of these kids were tall and strong. I about pissed my pants in laughter when I saw him. He was a skinny little thing and short to boot. I couldn't believe this was the kid my coworkers were afraid of. I still remember our first conversation. For a kid that was crazy, Spency was smart as fuck; maybe that's why they were scared of him."

"Can you tell us more? What did you talk about?"

"I did what I always did when meeting a new patient. I knocked and gave my name before unlocking his room. He was huddled in the corner diagonal from the door. I'm talkin' hunched down, arms around knees, and head down doing his damnedest to disappear. I kneeled down a few feet away from him and said "Pierce, can you hear me? It's time to take your meds." He flinched – like he was expectin' me to grab him – and curled in on himself even more. I tried again. "Pierce, dude, you gotta take your meds. It'll help clear your head. Don't you wanna feel better?" He shivered and looked at me. You ever look into someone's eyes and realize they're broken? That was how Spency looked because that's how he was.

"I've seen a lot of things in patients; hurt, confusion, desperation and pure anger. Lot of tears too, but I ain't ever seen a kid as sad as Spency. I called out to him again. "You alright, Pierce? You hungry? I heard you missed dinner today. I can get you some food if you want but you gotta take your pills." Finally, he spoke to me. I still remember his voice. It was barely above a whisper, high pitched and rough – as if he had been screaming for hours on end.

"My name's not Pierce." That's the first thing he said to me and I could tell that he believed what he was saying. His file said he was schizophrenic but that bounced to different disorders depending on which doctor was looking at him. Sometimes it said borderline personality and other times it said dissociative identity disorder but mostly it said schizophrenia. None of that meant squat to me but different diagnoses meant different pills so his changed a lot. Anyway, we were told not to follow along if a patient was having delusions. So that's what I did. "No, your name is Pierce. You've been admitted because you're unwell but we're gonna try and help you. We're here to make you better but you gotta help us out and take your pills." I said that to him knowing it was pure bullshit. Lindsay didn't care if they got better or not. More kids meant more money, after all. "My name's not Pierce." He repeated that several times before he began to cry and buried his head in his arms again. Even then he was still whispering it as reverently as one would a prayer.

"Now, I've seen kids soul deep in their delusions. They think they're Jesus; they think their supernovas in human form or wizards or aliens . . . whatever makes 'em feel safe and strong. Spency wasn't like that. He wasn't telling me he was an adult or something other than human; he was just insisting that Pierce wasn't his name. So I decided to humor him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. What's your name?" I asked him and he froze. I thought the second coming was going to come before he moved again. When he looked at me, there was hope and hesitation in his eyes – like he couldn't tell if I playin' with him or not. "Spencer. That's my name. Spencer." I nodded and kept talking to him. "Spencer's a cool name. Sorry about the confusion. Can you do me a favor and take these pills?" I thought I was being slick by agreeing with him. He didn't answer me; just stared at my face before bursting into tears again.

"You don't believe me!" He wailed and had a meltdown. He slammed his head against the wall several times before I could stop him – thank God it was padded. The whole time he was screaming "I want my mom! I want my dad! Please, let me see them! Please, I'll be good. I'll be normal. I'll be Pierce even though my name is Spencer. Please, I'm so scared. I haven't seen them. I need to see them. I need to make sure they're ok." This turned into mumbled pleas that I couldn't make out. I sedated him and gave him his pills. Felt bad about that. Especially when he began to slur, "I'm not crazy. Why are you doing this? Why am I here? Why don't you believe me?"

"I promised that he could see his dad soon and he passed out not long after. Not sure why I remember that so well. All the kids insisted they weren't insane. Spency, though, Spency's the only one who looked heartbroken about it. Weeks pass and he settles in. New patients have to have an aide with them when they bathe. Spency hated that. Hated that I saw the scars on his chest. Let me tell you, there was a shit ton of them. I asked around after I saw them; I was told it was self-inflected but I didn't believe that. Ain't no way a kid could stab himself _that_ many times before passing out. Nah, someone went to town on that kid and my money is on his dad.

"His dad was a real piece of work. Always wore a suit- I think he was a lawyer or something fancy like that. Probably ashamed and annoyed that his son wasn't normal. He stopped by every Friday and looked in on him. Never spoke to him or opened the door. Just peeked inside to make sure he was there and then left. Took less than 10 minutes. I wanted to punch that mother fucker for being so cold. Spency pleaded with me so many times to see his parents and his dad couldn't even bother to open the door to say hi. I never saw his mom. Soon Spency stopped asking. He stopped fighting and took his pills. At least, that's what everyone thought." Carlos ended in a sigh.

"What did he do, Carlos?" Morgan asked, sporting a mighty fine glare that went splendidly with his clenched fist. Rossi hid his own disgust at Agent Mosser's actions but gave Morgan his silent approval.

"He was hiding his pills. We had to check and make sure the kids swallowed them but Spency was faking it. Not sure when he started but he was good. Pill under the tongue or tucked inside his cheek was his go-to but sometimes he did some sleight of hand and made a show of it. He'd make it look like he took the pill while slipping it into his shirt or other hand. After that he dissolved them with water – the milder kids were allowed a cup of water in their rooms. If he didn't have that, he'd repeatedly spit on them or wait until he was taken to the bathroom to flush 'em.

"By the time I discovered this it had been over a year. In that time Spency really grew on me. He was quiet and didn't stir up trouble. Read so fast I thought he was fakin' but he wasn't! That kid remembered everything he read, too. It was out of this world. It's probably why he had a lot of cool trivia stored up in that brain of his. He beat everyone when Jeopardy was on. Whiz at math too. Could do shit in his head that I can only dream of. When I caught on that he was trashin' his pills, I was going to report it but I decided not to."

"Why?"

Carlos shrugged. "I didn't think he needed the pills all that much, he wasn't causin' trouble. I'm not saying he was sane. He talked to thin air sometimes. Couldn't stand knives and hated being restrained. We had to give him pills because injections were damn near impossible to give to him. Terrified of needles. So he wasn't well-adjusted but crazy seemed like the wrong word. In fact, when he took his pills he was at his strangest. Lot of those drugs had sedatives in them so they tired him out but they also made him paranoid? At least I remember his eyes flickering all over the place and he muttered a lot when he was on them."

"So you didn't make him take his pills after you discovered this because you felt bad for him?" Rossi asked giving Carlos a flat stare. There had to be more to it than that. Carlos did not reply. Rossi and Morgan kept silent. Sometimes the best way to make someone talk was to make them uncomfortable; it worked far better than threats.

"Well, hey, you said nothing I say here would add to my sentence. Is that still true?" Carlso said, caving under the pressure.

"Unless you're about to confess that you murdered someone, our word stands. The statute of limitations for drugs is 3 years." Morgan mentioned, hoping that tidbit of information would be a tipping point for their convict. He withheld a smile when Carlos began talking again.

"Ok, so I chose to become a member of the Sol Kings because it appealed to me more than the other gangs. I wanted support but I didn't want to be involved in selling women or weapons. Drugs I don't mind, but the other two just leave a bad taste in my mouth, y'know? Sol Kings is a niche gang- we only do drug related business. In the 90s fruit salad parties were getting popular in the underground. They're called pharm parties now, I think, but, yeah, people were asking for prescription pills back then. Librium, Valium and the like were pretty popular, but we wanted to get an edge on the competition and introduce some drugs most people couldn't get their hands on."

"And Pierce Derns was a perfect opportunity." Morgan supplied.

"It sounds bad when you put it like that. I didn't steal his meds; I made a deal with him. If he behaved and didn't raise a fuss, he wouldn't have to take his pills when I was assigned to him. It was a win-win for both of us; I got some pills no one else could get and he didn't have to worry about taking them." Carlos cracked his neck. "We had a good thing goin' for a few years. Then Lindsay found out and I was fired."

"She didn't have you arrested? The misuse of prescribed drugs is a serious crime, Mr. Gutierrez." Rossi said. That, and Lindsay Parker did not sound like a woman who would let something like that slide.

"She was going to – every bone in her body was vindictive. At the time I was fired, though, a bunch of professionals were coming in to look at the facility. Health inspectors, doctors, therapists and some other people were stopping in to check on things. They belonged to some board of mental health and Lindsay was already in trouble with one of visiting doctors, so she was more worried about covering her ass than burning mine."

"What do you mean she was in trouble with another doctor?"

"Children's Mercy had an open door policy. If doctors from other facilities were interested in one of the patients, they could request a session. It didn't happen often but 4 months before I was fired, an outside psychiatrist began visiting Spency. 'Course when a visiting doctor was in, everyone was on their best behavior and actually did their damn jobs. Most only visited once or twice. This lady began visiting every week. I don't know if she talked to the other kids or if Spency said something but she knew something wasn't right. I'm not sure what happened did but I walked by Lindsay's office one day and this lady was inside yelling all sorts of things at her. I was impressed."

"Do you remember this woman's name?"

"Oh, jeez. Um, I don't remember her first name. Her last name was Marigold, like the flower."

"Do you remember anything else?"

"About Spency? Not really. Still think about him sometimes. He helped me win big when it came to betting on sports teams." Carlos said, grinning. Rossi and Morgan looked at each other, both agreeing that Carlos had told them everything he knew.

"I see. Thank you for your time, Mr. Gutierrez. You've been a big help."

As they packed up and headed for the door, Carlos called out to them.

"Hey! Spency's not in trouble is he? Is he ok?" Both of them heard the concern and an underlying nervousness in his voice. He wasn't asking as a polite formality.

Morgan turned to look at him.

"That's what we're trying to find out."


End file.
